Satan Burger by Iii Carlton Mellick Page B

favorite.
               Gods live very frustrating lives.  That’s why they are so frustrating to get along with.  And they are bitter for living such a long-long time with no end, and being responsible for billions upon billions of life forms is a very demanding job.  Gods are the fathers of their worlds, but Yahweh seems more like the drunken abusive father that wears a wife-beater T-shirt, who doesn’t like his home dirty when he comes back from work.
               When Satan came out of the closet, he was sent to hell.  Hell was just a giant prison located at the center of the Earth, within the god dimension.  Of course, it was the most pain-drudgy prison ever built.  All of the evil souls of history lived there, and Satan was the prison guard who monitored the evil.  Yahweh labeled him the most evil person in hell, because he was the first homosexual.  And God considers homosexuality the most disgusting evil of them all.
               Satan is glad Hell doesn’t exist anymore.  It was a shitty job, and he didn’t need it.  The walm ate all of the souls from hell before it started eating the ones on Earth, so all the tyrants of history that you’ve known are in oblivion now.  Only your memory of them exists.  Satan saved some of the souls, though, because he is a collector of souls.  Hitler is one.  Kublai Khan is another.  Aristotle is another.

              
               Richard Stein said that God is very picky about the souls He lets into heaven.  He won’t even let you in if you haven’t been baptized.  And people like Aristotle are the ones that really got screwed, since the art of baptism didn’t even exist in their lifetimes. Aristotle was a good man, but he was born too early in history and had to go to hell. 
               Richard Stein hated God for making up that rule.  Actually, he just hated the Christians for it.  He never met God.  Why should he care about somebody he never met?
              

Scene 8
    The Festival of War

              
    Awake around noon, I tremble my corpse throughout the warehouse, feet sticking to the concrete floor, grits of sand cleaving, devoted to my feet.  Going without shoes makes your feet go tough and leathery, but they become susceptible to picking up rocks and bits.  A piece of broken glass can never cut you when stepped on, but it will stick to your heel and walk with you for days.
               Nobody else is encircling yet.  Three of them are at work and the other two are sleeping.  My hair is stiff-scrabbled from the hard rest.  The head my body owns is heavy, pulling my neck muscles to work.  The neck bone is cramped up.  A good sharp pain would relax it, massage it. The jab of a knife might do the trick.
    I find a knife near the band equipment, one that Mort uses for screwing.
               Stabbing my neck’s back with the sharp of the knife, I sit on the toilet in the center of the room.  As I poop, I put the television on my lap and watch adventure cartoons on the network for cartoons.  Johnny Quest is on right now, Thunder Cats is coming up next.  As I stab my neck, making the neck tissue loose, and Johnny Quest rides his speedboat in the amazon, rolling in my rolling world . . .
    I notice a man through the window. 
    At first, I don’t mind him.  He’s only passing on the carpet walkway.  Then he passes again, and then another again.  I continue pinching out the waste-food, trying to pinch faster, hoping that the man outside does not see me sitting here with my pants down and a TV on my lap.
                Another man clankers by. He’s in a suit of armor, doing some kind of construction work.
    I use my God’s eyes to investigate.

              
    A large tent picks itself up in my yard.  The tent is made of gray wire lizard tissue - used in underground societies for clothing and other textiles, societies which are widely